


Second Star to the Right

by CaptainRogers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Dark, Drinking, Dysphoria, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Ghosts, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is a Tease, Horror, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Requited Love, Self-Doubt, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Smoking, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRogers/pseuds/CaptainRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's make your own horror movie night with Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Star to the Right

9:15pm. I’ve convinced you to take me out on a proper date, _“but I haven’t been to the cinema in aaaages,”_ supposedly a real ace horror flick set to scare the pants off of Stephen King himself. Once in a blue moon I’ll get the urge to go out, actually _want_ to, though staying in has always treated me just as well as a night on the town, and I prefer having you to myself, anyway. 

Thankfully there's not a whole lot of people in the theatre. It's a bit chilly, late fall, but I've gotten away with just leggings, black trainers, an oversized tee and grey cardigan. We look quite the indie pair, I'll never be forgiven for my large framed studious glasses clashing so with my grunge aura nor you for your skinnies, boots, and long hair. I mean really, this couple deserves their own "making hipster cool" fashion blog. 

Of course it smells like popcorn everywhere, I hate the stench and as we're seated waiting for the movie to begin keep burying my nose in your shoulder for your sweet, familiar scent. I won't buy from concessions, too expensive, I stashed plenty of chocolate in my purse to enjoy later. When the movie starts I squeal and clutch your arm wildly. Whenever the music peaks in anticipation, you grab my side to make me jump and I yell expletives and you remind me not to swear. If I think there'll be a startling part, I cover your eyes and tell you "don't look, don't looooook!" whilst half-covering my own eyes with my other hand. Sometimes your hand wanders to my inner thigh and just sits there, occasionally tightening or caressing, but this isn't high school, I'm not going to make out with you in a movie theatre. 

Around 11 the movie ends and we leave, waiting until everyone else has filed out and I latch onto your arm and rant about how great the movie was, and how I actually wasn't able to call the ending like in every other movie I've seen ever, and wow like the cinematography was actually really good too and generally the whole thing had this 1970s atmospheric horror vibe and it was just so great. 

Dark outside, cloudless sky, we make our way down the street to a nearby bar. Small, hole-in-the-wall joint, has a friendly bartender we both know and like. I'm now regretting only the cardigan. You put your arm around my shoulders and gently kiss the side of my head before saying, "Told you to bring a jacket." I shrug your arm off with coy offence before threading my fingers through yours and swinging your hand as we walk along. Luckily the bar isn't too far off. I feel a bit anxious as we draw near, the thoughts running in the background of my mind may dull but never leave for good. Never necessarily coherent sentences, but a cloud of worry permeating my entire life. Your presence always pushes them to the edge of the black, so far away I can't hear their taunts, but for a few moments they resurface. 

_The place might be packed, full of people, I'll have to thread through them and brush up against tipsy strangers with drinks in their hands, people I don't know, they might look at me and think I'm ugly, they might see me for what I really am, a pretender, I'm not as good as them, at the pretending, I know right now they're all lying and just trying to get laid and thinking with their downstairs brains because they're all so fucking primitive and that's all they fucking know, I shouldn't care but I don't want them to see me and I don't want to see them and for fuck's sake I reeeeally don't want to touch any of them for even a second. Please please please let there not be a crowd oh god it's going to be PACKED—_

You hold the door open for me and I tentatively go first, small smirk on my face to hide my anxiety, but lo and behold it's the perfect night, only a few intelligent looking humans milling about. One older lady sings karaoke on the floor, and a couple of sharply dressed males admire her voice while sharing a conversation over drinks. The one room is softly lit by old gas lamps on the walls, fat candles on the surfaces, the smells tangy and fresh. 

My instinct is to make a beeline for the corner booth—I stop myself. "Let's sit at the bar," I gesture to the stools on our left, still choosing an end seat so no one could sit by me but a bit enthused by the fact that I just consciously made a decision I'd never before made in my life. 

We order drinks, I encourage you to get something stronger than you would normally start off with, and I go for anything vodka based. The bartender knows me well enough by now she doesn't even need to ask what to bring me first. She's a congenial, buxom, bisexual lass—one I'd probably have a crush on if I allowed myself those things and looked at anyone else but you. The three of us chat and joke for a bit, catching up on each others' lives and relaxing into the atmosphere. You and I are both two drinks in before I need to step outside for a cigarette, a new high for me. Usually I get through half a drink and smoke a fucking pack. I inform you I'm going outside, turning and sliding off the stool and hoping I don't look like I've been drinking. 

"I'll go with you." 

"No no no, you don't need to come. It's not a biggie. I'm just gonna have one." I continue moving towards the front door and look back to reiterate, "You can stay, really. Pal with Rachel. I'll be fiiiiiine." 

You say nothing, but set your mouth in a determined line and follow me out, anyway. The building is on a corner, so I walk around to the side to try and be courteous, leaning up against the brick and searching for my lighter.  

Out of nowhere, you grab my purse out of my hand and drop it on the ground, pushing me firmly against the wall. "What the fu—" You stop my words quickly with your lips, pulling back so that I beg your mouth with mine. We're equally matched in ardour as our lips meet, moving gently and then intensely against each other. I slide my tongue on yours, feeling you and having you and yet pulling you in so greedily. Kissing you is what I would imagine heaven to be like, if I believed in such a thing. 

You have one hand placed on the wall to the side of my head, but the other slides up my long shirt to the top of my leggings, slipping inside the fabric and trailing down. I am intoxicated enough by drink and lust I didn't have a second thought about getting fingered on the sidewalk outside a bar. I welcome it. 

Your hand stays where it is, you tease my desires by slowly and sensually kissing my neck before biting the skin and I gasp, it's only then that I worry about being seen like this—

And as quickly as you began you stop. Your hand leaves the inside of my leggings, your teeth leave my neck, you step away with a self-satisfied smile and a little laugh at my hopelessly flustered appearance. 

"Have your smoke. But hurry up because I wanna sing karaoke." With that you turn on your heel and round the corner, disappearing from sight and leaving me breathless. Literally shaking from yearning, I pick my purse up from the concrete and rummage for my cigarettes and lighter. I uneasily light a cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke up into the starry sky. "Motherfucking asshole," I mutter under my breath with a rue grin. I lean my head back on the hard brick and remember what my life was like without this. Empty. Lonely. Hopeless. Before I felt dependent on a stranger for my own worth, but now I had really found it, and life wasn't so much of a fight anymore. The universe had gifted me with something more valuable than I had ever imagined, and I didn't need the struggle to know what was real. I didn't need the pain. I'd finally found something real, and he was right inside that building, wanting to sing some motherfucking karaoke. 

I snuff my ember on the street and head back inside, not expecting my reverie at the stars to awaken an equally philosophical thought process at the sight of you. Leaning up against the bar, animated and lovely, unruly charm exuding from your very pores, I was reminded why I fell for you in the first place. The smile that could light up a whole room, the soft, low way of speaking that felt just like a lullaby, the gentle vulnerability of a child in your posture and your eyes. I needed you to save me, but I wanted to save you, too. 

You meet my gaze with sudden clarity and I divert my eyes, embarrassed slightly from staring and filled with undeniable chills. I still feel butterflies sometimes when I look at you.

After I order another drink and take a few unwise swigs, we go for a song. I demand a duet, the sappiest love duet of all time, and we sing our hearts out like more than just a few drunken strangers are watching, we may be buzzed but we sound damn good. A spatter of enthused clapping erupts across the room when we finish, one male cheers and I laugh at him, at least we gave the customers some entertainment with their drinks. I go to glance at my phone, it's nearly 1:30am already. 

"Okay, you've had your—" oh wait, I'm talking to air, you stayed behind to socialise with the man who seemed most excited to watch us sing. I forget talking to other people is a thing. 

All the sudden I have an idea. Probably not my best idea to date, but I want to leave the bar without going home yet. And I'm completely smashed. A quick search on my phone brings up the information I want, address in maps, and voila, new destination. I wait patiently for you to finish your conversation, but as soon as you head back over I grab your hand and say, "Babe, let's get out of here." 

"Oh? That desperate for me?" You turn back and make a poor attempt to wink at the bar tender Rachel. Although if exaggerated and comical was what you were going for, you nailed it. She of course smiles like you're the funniest guy in the world, she's seen it all and I'm sure that wasn't too bad, and gives a little thumbs up. I can see you're way past your limit, but I'm too set now on my new plan to scratch it just yet. 

"When we get to the car, I want you to grab a water bottle from the trunk, okay? There's some place else I want to go." 

"Wow, okaay, jeeeeez, who are you, my mother?" 

"Fuck off. I'm gonna drink some water, too." 

The walk back to the car seems a lot longer than earlier and certainly is a lot colder, I doubt my decision but am too stubborn to not follow through. I grab two water bottles from the trunk of the black Audi, tossing one to you as I walk around to the driver's side but just catch a glimpse of your hands miserably failing and the bottle plopping onto the ground. I snort and shake my head with a ridiculous laugh. 

"Get in bitch, we're going shopping." 

Once we're driving, Ed escaping through the speakers on quietly sung notes and passionate lyrics that I join loudly, you ask me where the fuck we're going. 

I glance over at you, smiling slyly. "It's a surpri—" 

"Babe look the fuck out!" 

My head whips around as my foot slams on the brake, an old woman in a ragged hospital gown inching across the road in front of us. She's ghastly and all bones in the harsh glare of the headlights, only blackness beyond her, trembling, veiny hands hanging at her sides. I stop the car just seconds before hitting her. 

"Jesus Christ!" you exclaim, slamming back in your seat and holding your head in shock. 

She continues shuffling bare footed across the pavement, making no sign that she even sees us, unwashed tendrils of grey hair covering her face. 

"Should I—should we see if she needs help?" I set the parking brake, never taking my eyes off the unsettling apparition in front of us. 

"I'll get her some water," you offer, clearly shaken, but slowly opening the door and darting to the back of the car. I pop the trunk and open my door as well, watching her move towards the ditch before checking quickly on you. In the time that my eyes move from her to you and return again, she’s gone, truly like a ghost. 

“Um, H?” I run to the front of the vehicle, hiding behind my open door and peering past into the now ominous night. No sign of the—what what she? Escaped patient? Six million dangerous scenarios buzz through my head like a bee on steroids. She could be missing from a hospital, a normal hospital where physically hurt people go to get help, in which case she’s in trouble, or she could be—well, escaped from a mental hospital, in which case all of us might be in trouble. I barely got a look at her face, but hell, I would definitely go as far as to say it look disturbed. _“Babe!”_  

You stumble up next to me, bumping into my shoulder and creeping around the side of my head. “I got the water. Where is she?” 

I step backwards slowly, moving closer into you. “I don’t know. She fucking disappeared. She’s fucking gone.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ no.” Shoving the water bottle into my hands, you stride towards the passenger side determinedly and demand, “Get in. Go. We are not doing this shit.” 

A bird—an animal, a banshee, maybe a demon—screeches, I inhale sharply and scan my surroundings with a madly pounding heart. This is ridiculous. This is impossible. Nobody just fucking _disappears_. I discover nothing new in the night, there’s only the freakishly lit pavement and dim ditches and rural nothingness. 

“ _Now_ , Julia.” 

Shit. By just your tone (and no _Jules_ , it’s fucking _Julia_ , I’m in trouble now), I can tell you’re quickly converting your fear into anger, so I slide into the driver’s seat, slam the door, turn off the radio…and giggle. _This is ridiculous. This is impossible. And this sets the ambience for my destination perfectly._

“Okay, turn the car around, now. We’re going home. I don’t give a fuck where you wanted to go, it’s off.” You’re trying so hard to look and sound mad, but your glazed eyes keep darting out the window, like the old ghoulish woman is about to pop out of the ditch and throw herself at the car with a grudge-like scream. Then we’ve got your voice which is a little more slurred than usual, your pink lips so delicate and pretty when they form words, your face flushed from the drink. God bless alcohol. God bless this night. God bless stupid decisions. 

Like for instance, my decision to laugh at you. I’ve been told I’m cute when I’m angry, which is tirelessly irritating as all hell, because very few people have actually seen me _angry_ angry, but this was too much in my adrenaline-rushed drunken frame of mind. “Baby,” I can barely get out the words, “you are so cute.”

“I will _fuck_ you up if you don’t _shut_ up,” you mutter, crossing your arms and glaring out the window to pout as I continue on down the road. 

“Do it, then,” I taunt. “Remember, we didn’t really have a chance to do anything proper for Halloween, and you _know_ it’s my favourite.” My phone prompts me to turn down a side road, and I reassure, “We’re almost there anyways. For all the trouble, I’ll do something real nice for you. I _promise_.” 

“It’s nothing we can’t do at our own home. In our own bed. Without any creepy old ghost ladies waiting in the bushes to murder us.” 

“How do you know what I’m gonna do?” 

You look at me like you’re looking into the camera on The Office. I just smile slyly and roll my glinting eyes, slowing a bit as the road turns to dirt and curves slightly. My phone is telling me that our destination is on the right, but I don’t see anything except a few big, curling trees and darkness. I crane my neck, slowing the car even more, searching our surroundings for something resembling a building. “Do you see anything?” You don’t bother to answer me. Grumpy, tipsy Harry. _Your destination is on the right_. “No it’s fucking not!” I exclaim, scrutinising the gnarled trees and hoping this isn’t a botched trip. _Rerouting_. “Shit!” Slamming my hand on the steering wheel, I sigh in frustration, this was a stupid idea anyways, I mean, sure, I did this sort of shit in high school, _but it’s not high school anymore is it_.

The car rolls forward, headlights on the dirt and rocks, I hate how the light only penetrates so far, and then it’s just _empty_ , like a video game loading. Instead of feeling lighthearted and excited as I had earlier, the stress is starting to show itself as fear, I’m getting jumpy now and imagining things. That fucking old woman _is_ going to transmute out of thin air two inches in front of our car making fucking grudge noises, gazing vacantly into our souls before appearing in our back seat and dragging us to hell with her wrinkled, leathery hands.

And then, much like her, what I’ve come for appears in front of us, out of nowhere, a haunting from a different age. Elegant brick, weathered yet regal, looming and sinister. Cane Hill Asylum. I set the car in park and turn it off but keep the headlights on for illumination. The light does nothing to make the building any less unnerving.

Your disgruntled face turns slowly forward to look out the windshield instead of the side window, mouth agape and brow furrowed. _“Are. You. Kidding. Me.”_ __

I attempt to regain my previous enthusiasm, although my palms are uncomfortably sweaty and the images of what I see inside are not pleasant. “Harry. It’s an _adventure_.” You sigh deeply, a whole body sigh, _why did I even think this would be a good idea_. “Baby, pleeease?”

“We are never doing anything like this ever again, do you fucking understand?” 

I try not to smile at my victory but instead nod seriously. “Okay. I know. We’ll make it quick.” Luckily, I had noticed your tan, fleece-lined jacket in the trunk earlier, so I stuff my phone in my jeans, flick off the headlights, and scurry to grab it. You have your long black peacoat for warmth, so we’re set. “Will you grab the flashlights, hon?” I call from the back of the car. 

The passenger side door opens. “The what?” 

“The flashlights. Torches. They’re in the glovebox.” 

“What kind of shit have you been stashing in my car?” 

You’re busy putting your mess of curly hair up in a bun, so I reach in and snatch the flashlights myself. “Like, emergency stuff? Stuff we would need in an emergency? I don’t know. The government has been priming us for an apocalyptic scenario for years now.”

You swing those long legs outside and stand, I hand you a flashlight, the car door’s bang echoes into the night like a gunshot. “You’re so full of shit. And that coat looks ridiculous on you, it’s too big.” I’m about to answer _I know, because you’re a fucking giant_ , but you kiss me hard and sensually, your lips are so soft and rich I want more, of course you pull away and start walking, dominantly weaving your fingers through mine and I stumble a little to catch up. How you manage to always leave me breathless baffles me. I’m such a sap.  

Now that Cane Hill Asylum lacks a spotlight, it’s infinitely more spooky. Not even a significant moon tonight to help us on our journey, just a sliver of a sideways smile. We are no doubt at the beginning of a horror movie. As my eyes adjust, making out the shapes of the trees that line the grounds is easier, but not necessarily better. They reach into the sky like fingers, _like that old woman’s fingers would_ , bent, broken, bare, twisted. Our flashlights bounce around nervously, never staying in one place, the crinkling of our shoes against the fallen leaves and ground is enough to give me a heart attack at this point. 

“Why do you enjoy do this to yourself again?” you ask, the same screech I heard earlier repeating and startling us both. 

“I don’t know. The adrenaline rush? Reminds me I’m alive.”

“There are a _lot_ of other things we could do to help with that.” 

“Yeah, I get it, next time I do something stupid, I won’t take you with me.” 

We reach the bottom of the steps. Even from all my silly “ghost hunting” in high school, I’d never felt something as foreboding as this. Like all the souls who had lived here had stained the walls, permeated the brick with horrors unseen to the outside world, injected their very _spirits_ into the building. And those spirits were very, _very_ tortured. The giant white double doors had once been sealed shut with a heavy chain and padlock, but that had since been cut and hangs in disrepair as I had suspected it would. 

“What? Are you scared?” You squeeze my hand with a teasing expression. 

_I feel fucking sick. Jesus christ we’re gonna die._ “No, I’m fine. Let’s fuck shit up.” My stomach is roiling. I might as well vomit. That patient, that woman in the road, she’s behind us right now, _no, she’s waiting for us behind the doors_ —

We push them open slowly, simultaneously, and actually, she’s not. The foyer is in ruin, already previous visitors had taken it upon themselves at this point to tag the walls with graffiti, and not even _good_ graffiti. “Jesus sucks dick,” I read incredulously. “Mm. That’s deep.” 

“I like this one.” You point your flashlight to some elementarily sprayed red words on the wall. “Hail Satan. That’s quite good, quite original, actually.” 

I shake my head ruefully. “I just don’t think we can live up to our predecessors, babe. I am so— _disappointed_ in us.” Our banter genuinely lightens the mood, and we keep on going down a hallway to the left. We weave our way through the debris, generally just dusty hospital beds and med carts. At the end of the hallway sits a silent, dire nurse’s desk. “Jesus christ that’s so creepy. Let’s check it out.” The shadows morph and play, two small spots of day aren’t enough to reveal anything. Night rules in this place. Night swallows up our day before the light can even reach it. 

Once we get to the nurse’s station and nothing has leapt out of the darkness to devour me, curiosity takes over. I let go out your hand and ease behind the desk carefully, still a swivel chair, still paperwork in the cubby holes, why were all these things just left here? A frosted-glass paned door calls my name, I try the handle and it’s amazingly unlocked, _the med closet_. Complete with meds of every kind, brown bottles of god knows what, probably fucking morphine and chloroform cough syrup. “Babe, you will not believe this!” I crouch down to examine the labels on these things, I’m so intrigued, this is some good shit right here. _Too bad it’s all expired._ “Babe?” Standing, I whip around and leave the closest, seeing you nowhere. “Baby!” Madly I scan every inch of the hallway, from here it branches into three—where we came from, and two going left or right from the nurse’s station. Both of those end shortly and turn into two more hallways running parallel to the main one. “Harry Edward Styles, do _not_ pull this fuckery on me! Where the fuck are you?” Instinct is telling me not to move, but I also innately need to find you. “Harry, please, don’t be fucking with me, okay?” I force my feet to move, they only really shuffle, I have no idea where to go so I head fearfully towards the left hallway. I reach the end of the nurse’s station and do a tense and gradual turn. Nothing new. My dread from earlier is rearing its terrifying head, the walls begin to whisper, I hear screams and maniacal laughs from the past, _why oh why did I bring myself to this place?_

I’m not watching my feet as I inch along, only ahead of me, behind me, the sides of me, this entire hallway is lined with patient rooms, so when I trip over a tin meal tray and the clatter screams through the building, I scream, too. I want to cry. The atmosphere has gone from bad to okay to hell incarnate. Hell in every door, and hiding in every room, and on the ceiling and in that fucking tray. “Baby, please!” My voice cracks, I stop because I hear a small sound, a rustle of clothing, or just a scuttling mouse? A door creaks open, I redirect my light wildly, but nothing looks different, _am I going insane?_ I mean that’d be ironic, in an asylum and all. What sorts of things were those who stayed here put through? Probably nothing to help their insanity. Nothing except making their lives even more of a living hell. I thought of the small, musty rooms, day in and day out, the experimental methods of the tyrannical doctors, the way a scared patient would no doubt be led like a lamb to slaughter for an electroshock therapy session. 

Shit. My days of cheap thrills are over. I need to leave, and now. “Harry? Let’s go, okay?” Dead silence. The building absorbs my words like a sponge soaking up blood, _it was feeding off of my fear._ “I really wanna go. I’m serious. Let’s go home, baby.” Another rustle, I _swear_ I’m not hearing imaginary things. Forward down the hallway again, towards the end. Room after room after room, limestone green walls and metal doors and pure fucking fear etched into the off-white tile floor. “Can you hear me? This is ridic—” 

Devil on my back, ripping into my shoulders, flashlight drops from my hand and straight to the ground, plastic shattering and batteries clattering, _“GOT YOU!”_ falls just before unhinged shrieking, I try to run but he really has _got me_ , claws tight, tearing me around to face Lucifer himself. 

I collapse into the beautiful fallen angel’s arms— _they warned me Satan would be attractive_ —which wrap around me ever so strongly and warmly and firmly, _he’ll never let me go now, I’ve sold my soul to hell and it feels so nice._ “Shit babe, I thought that’s what you wanted. The adrenaline rush thing and all that?” 

“Shut up, I hate you.” Hitting your chest with my fist, not domestic abuse hitting, but like half-assed, “You’re such a motherfucking dick!” we’re-gonna-have-great-make-up-sex-hitting, I push you up against the wall with my body with one arms still squeezing your middle. “I was genuinely freaked out.” I attempt to illicit genuine sympathy from you by searching your wide, warm eyes with my sharp, slight ones while replacing my other arm to your waist.

“Okay, maybe I’m missing something here, but wasn’t that the _point?_ ” You tighten around me more, peering at me with a judgmental look that would probably send anyone else to their grave. I just drop my forehead to your chest. _Who’s a fucking loser? I’m a fucking loser._ “Aw, hey, baby, you’re shaking.” Flashlight carefully meets the ground this time, our only hope of making it our of here without getting lost since mine bit the dust. Your big hands move comfortingly up and down my back, against my neck, finger trails across my collarbone and makes it to my chin, lifting up my face. “I was just trying to help.” Words almost a whisper, lips kept parted drawing closer to mine, honeyed like blooming rose petals, your entire being is the definition of sensuality without even trying. 

“The fuck you were.” Our lips join with small smiles, tender and refreshing like a gentle rain while the sun still shines. My hands move down to your hips, I love your hips, I could hold them all day. The feeling of playing and teasing each other with our mouths after just being scared to death was, plainly put, fucking amazing. Fright led into arousal quite wonderfully, it seemed. As if I was discovering you again for the first time, the taste of the night on your tongue, the command and allowance with which you control me, your deep breaths and the fervid force with which you push into my body with yours. I break one hand away from your hips, they don’t need my help anyway, dragging my fingers along your stubbled jawline to the back your head and deepening our kiss. The other hand moves just to the hipbone, caressing firmly, _firmer_ , edging inwards and downwards, I feel you balk a bit and a soft, unprepared whimper escapes the back of your throat so I pull away, smothering your jaw in slow kisses, smothering you neck in even slower, wet, voluptuous, ones, sucking on your skin and sliding my free hand to undo your jeans. I make my way to my knees, face up to see your glorious expressions while I kiss the bare skin below the hem of your shirt, unzipping, peeling down just enough clothing to get at the prize. 

“You’re into some weird stuff, babe,” you manage to get out before your breath catches in your throat again because I start licking the tip of your dick, holding the base and moving gently up and down with my hand to get you hard. I run my tongue along your length and then put my lips around you, moving halfway down and to the end, then pushing you all the way to the back of my throat. You groan and your head arches against the hallway, you bury your fingers through my hair but still allow me to still control the pace. In the back of my mind, like a repressed memory, I feel a chill pass across my body, goosebumps and everything, _someone is watching me, someone is right fucking behind me and this whole fucking thing was a bad fucking idea._ The thought is too dull compared to my current activity to warrant a response, my mouth slides over you more adeptly and decadently, again and again, I need you to come, when suddenly you yell, “What the _fuck_ —” and it’s not a, _I’m-going-to-fucking-come-what-the-fuck_ , there’s wild panic in your tone, I look up at your face and it’s not all pleasure anymore, you’re _freaked_ , eyes wide, looking straight ahead, almost _ashamed_ , but also _terrified_ , I move off of you and snap my gaze to where yours lies.

The old woman. The one in the road. Her haggard face peers out from behind the small window in the door directly behind me. “What the _fuck_ —” I scramble to my feet as you zip up your jeans, we grab onto each other but I can’t look away from her face. Her eyes are mesmerising, they’re so hollow and black and utterly dead. Her mouth opens, you bend down to grab the flashlight and shakily shine it towards the door but neither of us run. She’s still for what seems like a decade, just that toothless silent scream, and then the crackly, hissing words came— _“Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”_  

We bolt. My mind is a jumble of incoherent mush— _this is like a fucking movie, we are literally in a fucking horror movie you never THINK this stuff is actually going to happen but it’s actually happening, this shit is actually fucking happening but like if we don’t die I am totally going to look back on this and laugh_. I couldn’t stop my hammering heart if I wanted to. Our lone flashlight beam bounces off the walls and floor in mad patterns, it’s not even directing us, our eyes are adjusted enough to the darkness and the adrenaline pushing us forward doesn’t give a fuck about proper lighting. I swear I see the old woman’s face in every door, _second door to the right and straight on till killing, and they find our bodies a couple weeks from now and we end up on the news for a night but we’ll be a part of the asylum, stuck here with her, straight on forever._

Our escape is just up ahead, _to the right,_ the big double doors still cracked open, but not too much though, asking, _are you sure you want to leave? It’d be so much easier to stay._ Past the garish graffiti, through the high-ceilinged foyer, you tear back the door and we decline the haunt’s invitation. Your grip on my hand is so tight I wonder for a second if you’ve broken it. We come up on the car, “ _where are the fucking keys,_ ” I find them in my coat pocket and shove them in your hand as you let go of me, the few steps without you just around the front of the car to the passenger side door is fresh hell, less safe, and tears involuntarily prick my eyes. We both crash into our seats simultaneously, shutting and locking ourselves into the safety of our vehicle. The gloss of tears turns into a silent waterfall, a product of my clashing feelings—grief from the thought of a tragic outcome, shame that I had actually endangered you, doubt that I was even awake, _maybe it was all a dream_. You were the only thing anchoring me to reality, the only one reminding me to love, I was struck by how truly stupid it had been to test that. I would be content with Netflix and drinks at home for months now. 

You start the car and chuck the flashlight in my direction, it hits my knee and falls to the floorboard. As you look behind to back up, my eyes stayed glued on Cane Hill Asylum. It whispers for us to return. A gentle breath through the tree branches, leaves rustling in hushed tones, worming and writhing on the ground, shadows ebbing and pulsing behind windows. But Cane Hill, see, it _knows_ we’ve caught on. It _knows_ allure won’t do.

The old woman appears on the front steps, elbows twisted at an unnatural angle, and Cane Hill’s whispers turn to threats as she opens her mouth, this time leaking what looks like black oil, splotting down the front of her hospital gown. Her lips aren’t moving, but I know she’s croaking _second star to the right and straight on till morning_. She cracks her neck jerkily to the side. _Second star to the right and straight on till morning._  

“Baby get the fuck out of here!” I scream, wiping the tears from my face. One by one the asylum windows start to burst from the inside, spraying shards of glass down onto the dirt below. 

“What the _hell_ do you think I’m doing?” You slam on the brakes and whip the car around, spinning up dust and gravel. 

I can hear her now, as if she’s in my head. She’s not shrieking, no, but making a low, throaty grating noise, getting louder, and louder, and _louder_ —“Drive _faster_!” I slam my hands down on the dash, that noise is pure unadulterated insanity itself, in all its maddening horror, I try drowning it out with my hands over my ears but _that doesn’t work how is she so loud how is she in my head,_ “Baby _please!_ ” 

By the time we turn off onto the main road, her voice has faded enough that I can breathe again, but knowing what is real and what is not has become difficult beyond belief. I slip into a catatonic haze, barely acknowledging the fact that we’re twenty-five miles over the speed limit, letting the road and scenery blur together in a charcoal fog. I want to say your name, I want to tell you I love you, but I’m suddenly afraid that you’re not the one driving anymore. I can’t speak and I can’t move and all I want is to be comforted but I am _still so fucking scared_.

“ _Fuck!_ ” I smack the side of my head against the window. The pain feels real. So I must be real. I try again to make sure. 

“ _What_ the—babe, stop.” A hand rests firmly on my thigh, I peer down, it _looks_ like your hand, big and strong and well-defined, but who’s to really _know?_ I carefully place mine on top of it, softly feeling the fingers and knuckles and dips and bones and tendons. A wave of reassurance washes over me—I’m real, you’re real, we’re alive, and those are the only things that matter right now. 

The ride home seems to take ten years. We don’t say anything else, I’m waiting for you to chastise me one way or another, but all is silent and I simply hold onto your hand. Finally, our sprawling townhouse comes into view, the wrought iron gate creeps open with a push of a button, and you pull in on the paved driveway. I bring a deep, collecting breath into my lungs. We’re home. We made it. We didn’t die, no thanks to me. 

I had barely finished unbuckling when you’re on me, roughly pulling my face to yours and kissing me with fierce fervour. My entire body awakes, you’re an overwhelming necessity, if I don’t have you in my arms and feel you deep inside me, my existence will be haunted, I’ll forever question, wondering if the things I see and hear are reality or just a nightmare. “Fuck, Harry, I need you so badly—” 

You’re pulling off my coat, tearing off my shirt, “Please be quiet, I’m so mad at you right now and I didn’t _finish_ ,” another hard kiss, one hand on my chest and the other clenched in my hair, you bite my bottom lip before demanding, “ _get in the backseat._ ” I do as I’m told, lying on my back and slipping off my leggings as you take off your coat. You climb on top of me, grinding your hips and kissing my neck. I need all of you against me, I get your shirt over your head and throw it in the front so I can feel your skin, wrapping my arms around you and digging my nails into your shoulder blades. I push myself against your massive bulge, knowing this probably isn’t going to take you long and wanting as much pleasure as I can get. You unzip your jeans, dick already hard and easy to pull over the top of your boxer briefs, don’t even bother to remove my panties, just move the crotch over and slide yourself into me. I call out, you went so deep for the first thrust, but I revel in the pain and move a hand down to your hip, pressing down, wanting to hold you in that place for a bit. You go deadweight against me so that my face is buried in your neck, a hedonistic symphony of warm spice and bergamot on your skin, slowly but heavily moving your hips into me. I take the chance to undo your hair and watch the curls cascade down your neck and shoulders, running my hands in the beautiful mess and holding on tightly. Your skin is so warm and comforting, I roll my hips up as much as I can, matching your rhythm, sweeping my hands over your back and wrapping myself around you.

I moan as you move back up, _“Harry…”,_ arms propped on either side of my head, using the leverage to, without warning, thrust fully and firmly, almost angrily, then most certainly leaving hickeys on my neck with your greedy teeth and carnal lips. I am subject to your will, high whimpers escaping my throat with every movement. Each time I think you can’t go deeper, you do, my body wails with radical sensations, I don’t want you to ever stop, the monumental, glorious pressure is so much that I scream and cry your name.  

I know you’ll keep going until you come, I move my fingers down to stimulate my clit more and you shove them aside, using your own, “You’ll come when I want you to come, baby.” I feel the warmth rising inside me, a sharp excitement, I hold it and prolong the feeling, enjoying our bodies together and basking in our indulgent reality. Your brows furrow and eyes squeeze shut, a cry of rapture coming from your wide open mouth. You pin my arms above my head, I tell you to kiss me, lips meeting in heated anticipation, you hold yourself still inside me before sliding up gradually, building and building and building and _I’m going to come_ , and you bury yourself deep and fast and vigorous, once, twice, three times, heavy breath in my ear, both calling out, the warmth releases and blooms into contractions around you and euphoria washes over my entire body as you fill me up, hot and hard, transcending to higher planes of existence, sultry and wet and satisfied. We drown in breathless moans until you lower your head to my chest and heave one last sigh. The two of us lay in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, I gently brush my fingers through your hair, and you give me soft kisses along my jaw. 

Tossing our clothes on and making our way inside is a weary haze, all I can think about is dozing peacefully with you in our big, cosy bed. Upstairs, bedroom, you’ve stripped down naked before I can even think, you come over and undress me to my underwear, grabbing a fresh tee from your wardrobe and pulling it over my head. You flip back the covers and tell me to get in, before crawling in yourself. I automatically bury my head into your chest, one arm thrown across your middle and the other curled around your neck, the most placid way for me to sleep. 

“I’m never letting you plan anything again,” you grumble, but I’m already drifting, listening to the slow of your heartbeat and sinking into your safe rise and fall. 

“I’m sorry,” I slur, images of Cane Hill Asylum fading in and out of my mind, so tired I don’t care, so relaxed against you I wouldn’t care if that old bitch showed up in our room right this very second. “I’m really sorry.” At the end of the day, all that matters to me is you—that the light in your green eyes never goes out, that you believe you really do deserve all the happiness in the world, that you grow and flourish and become the best person you can be. My heart will always be overwhelmed by you, want to care for you and give you anything you want. Sometimes it hurts, but most of the time it’s paradise. “I love you so much, baby.” I can do anything if you’re by my side, because everything will be okay. I’ve never doubted that, and I never will. 

You kiss the top of my head, and we sleep. 

* * *

Light filters in through the sheer black curtains, I roll over to see I’m alone in our bed. I stretch out, groaning, sure I’ve slept well into the day. A note lies on the night stand in your heavy scrawl, “ _Went to pick up a few groceries. Back soon. Love you, H x_.” I hold it and smile to myself, thinking a few more minutes of sleep couldn’t hurt until you return. 

A book lounges mysteriously underneath the paper. I know all our books. It’s old and weathered, spine cracked, brown cover, worn corners—completely unfamiliar. 

The title is _Peter Pan_.

_Second star to the right, and straight on till morning._

Gravelly, low rasping bleeds through my brain, overtaking each nerve and vein and muscle with panicked insanity. 

She stands at the foot of the bed, waiting. 

 


End file.
